Miklós Bánffy - They Were Found Wanting

‘To make matters worse, Olajos had never kept up payments on the mortgage with which the property had been encumbered when he bought it and so, when he died, the company had foreclosed and the property been sold by auction for a mere song. The widow and child were now penniless, because it seemed that Olajos had nothing of his own. There can be no doubt that the Orphans’ Court acted irresponsibly and it was certainly very odd that Olajos, who had a very bad reputation, had been able to persuade it to hand the money over to him at all. I fancy he must have had some crony in the office who had influence with the chairman of the Court, old Bartokfay, who was honest but naïve, a real “Hail, fellow, well-met!” sort of type.’

‘So you think there’s nothing we can do?’

‘Nothing! And we can’t even ask old Bartokfay, who’s not been at all himself since his stroke in the Spring.’

Balint found himself strangely affected by this story, which impressed him all the more since he had such a high regard for the notary Daniel Kovacs. And so it was the memory of the widow Olajos’s sad predicament which influenced him when he came to make his speech at the provincial assembly held at Maros-Torda at the end of November.

One of the principal items on the agenda was the resignation of Bartokfay, the acceptance of his dictated letter of resignation and the choice of a successor. The old chairman of the court had been very popular, especially with all the junior officials who mostly belonged to the radical 1848 Party, as opposed to the senior men who, led by Miklos Absolon, were aggressive supporters of the 1867 Compromise. Here, therefore, was one more example of a confrontation between the two basic political opponents in Hungarian politics — those who wanted complete independence and those who supported the union with Austria.

For some reason Absolon did not appear and so it was left to Beno Peter Balogh, the former Provincial Notary who had lost his job when the Coalition government came to power, to lead the party at the meeting. Though the Independence Party were now in the majority enough of the unionists were present to show that they were still a power to be reckoned with. Successive speakers praised the virtues of the retiring chairman, and even of his uncle who, many years before, had been the local Member of Parliament. Someone proposed a motion to perpetuate the memory of Bartokfay, who, it was said in a sly reference to the upheavals of 1848, had lived through ‘stirring times’ and whose sterling virtues should never be forgotten. The text barely mentioned his official activities but was principally composed of grandiloquent phrases more suited to heartening troops before a battle than to commemorating an aged politician.

Abady sat on a bench at the side. The proceedings irritated and annoyed him and so he refrained from speaking himself. As delegate after delegate rose and added their praises for the truly exceptional qualities of the departing chairman, so Abady found himself thinking more and more of the story told by the widow Olajos. He was all the more upset because, after hearing of that case at Lelbanya, several others had been brought to his attention, all concerning the property of orphans and all seeming to point, at the best, to culpable negligence.

It was really monstrous, he thought, that today so many people should go out of their way to heap praise on a man who had clearly been so slipshod in carrying out his responsibilities and who probably deserved censure and possibly even disciplinary action rather than these hymns of praise. And, as no one present seemed inclined to tell the truth, he decided that he himself must say something so that at least there would be some record in the minutes. The best moment, he thought, would not be now during all these farewell eulogies but later when it came to the election of Bartokfay’s successor. Then he would get up and mention, in general terms, that there had been several shortcomings in the past administration of the Orphans’ Court and that knowledge of these would be the best lesson for the future. After all, few matters deserved closer scrutiny than the well-being of orphans who could not look after themselves.

At long last, amid prolonged cheers, the prefect Ordung rose, added his own sycophantic words of praise, and obtained a unanimous vote in favour of the motion beatifying old Bartokfay.

Then he asked the meeting to nominate a new chairman for the Chancery Court.

Now Abady rose and asked if he might say a few words. Speaking calmly and in measured tones, he said that he had no intention of denigrating the departing chairman and certainly not of impugning his honesty or personal integrity. However it should not be allowed to be passed over that recently the administration of the Orphans’ Court had left much to be desired.

Murmurs of consternation ran through the hall. Bartokfay’s nephew, an emotional man who had succeeded his father as local member and who had been reduced to tears during the sustained eulogies to his uncle, now rose and thundered, ‘I won’t listen to a word of such rubbish!’

As if it had been a signal other people now leapt to their feet and shouted, ‘How do you know that? How can you say such things? Proof? Where’s the proof?’ while others called out, ‘The noble Lord’s a Unionist, that’s why he talks like that!’ These last remarks at once brought supporters of the last government to Abady’s side and they too jumped up, calling, ‘Hear! Hear!’ And so the delegates split into two opposing factions; not, of course, that they thought for a moment about the truth of the matter for now there was a party line to follow.

The angriest faction was composed of those belonging to the party in power, the strident supporters of separation from Vienna. They it was who called out, ‘This is libel! Calumny! Trumped-up charges! Let’s have some proof or shut up and apologize!’ And these last remarks were like a battle-cry for Abady’s supporters who now hoped to hear something to discredit their enemies and so joined in the cries of ‘All right! Proof! Let’s have the proof! Out with it!’

When the noise had subsided a little, Balint raised his hand. Everyone fell silent, eager to hear the worst.

‘If you want proof, I can supply it,’ said Abady; and without mentioning the widow’s name he told her story hoping that that would be enough to satisfy them. Not at all. Although the ranks of the Independents at first seemed disconcerted they soon rallied when Abady’s own supporters reacted with peals of artificial laughter, and then Bela Varju, one of the most fervent of the 1848 Party, let out a roar like a bull bison and scornfully shouted, ‘Out with it! Tell us the names! We need real proof; without the names it’s obviously pure invention. Calumny, no less!’

And so what had so often happened to Abady before now happened again. He was forced to go much further than had been his original intention. When he had risen to speak he had only wanted to make the point that new rules should be adopted by the Orphans’ Court so as to ensure strict surveillance of the Court’s administration of the children’s assets. Now he had been so deflected from his original purpose that he could not even declare it. His intervention had been taken as a piece of party political aggression and his disinterested proposition turned into a basis for party dissension. Without mentioning a single name he found himself branded as a slanderer.

Abady had no choice but to tell the full tale, leaving nothing out and mentioning all the names. Happily he made no mistakes as, in matter-of-fact tones, he related names, dates, sums of money — the whole sad little tale. This dispassionate approach had a remarkably cooling effect on the Independence Party members, not a few of whom remembered some of the circumstances. But on Abady’s own supporters the effect was the opposite. Instead of the artificial laughter with which they had greeted such an insignificant tale they now took it up as a real scandal and, with equallly insincere indignation, called out, ‘There you are! Didn’t we tell you? Monstrous! Outrageous!’